The Esme Diaries
by Shekiah Rosay
Summary: My name is Esme Evenson, and I have just run away from home to find a man called Carlisle Cullen. He won't remember me, but I have no choice. I am tired, sick, eight months pregnant, and madly in love. This is my diary...
1. On the Train, April 26, 1921

So here's the Esme Diaries! It was this or a Bella-centric story - you guys got the choice, there was a poll on my profile page. I would have kept it up longer, but it was becoming clear that Esme was winning by a landslide. The Bella one might still come up sometime, but this is the one the world wanted more!

This was inspired by a YouTube video about Carlisle and Esme by SmileMegan, to the song "Set Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol. The Document Manager won't let me prove a link, but go to her page and watch it, because it ROCKS! (PS - its "real" title is: Esme & Carlisle Cullen - Miles from where you are)

Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I don't own Twilight. ;)

* * *

I'm eight months pregnant and I'm on the run, searching for a vampire.

Well, actually, that's not entirely true. I physically couldn't run if I tried. It's funny; after almost seven months, it still surprises me sometimes to look in the mirror and see this large, unfamiliar version of myself. Whenever I do, I feel a strange sense of guilt mixed with the obvious rush of anxious joy. Perhaps because I allowed everything to go on for so long – I could have stopped it before it went so far. I could have made them believe me. I could have done exactly what I'm doing now before I was so poor and in such fragile condition. I could have, I could have, I could have.

But no more. I finally _did_, and that's what matters. I have departed. Not only from Charles Evenson, but from that horrible, wretched life that I've been muddling through. I'm currently on a train somewhere between Columbus, Ohio and Ashland, Wisconsin.

And I am alone.

To make a painfully long story short, I guess I finally decided that there was nothing more to lose, so I left home while Charles was at work. It was surprisingly simple; especially since I already had my clothes mostly packed (in case the baby came early, or so I'd told him; you never know with the first) and I had secretly withdrawn a few hundred dollars from our bank account for an emergency. There are some perks to having to balance the checkbook all by myself.

I could allow myself to be hit and battered for a hideously long time, but when it came to my son or daughter, there was a line that demanded to be drawn.

I suppose this part of the story really explains itself.

But the "looking for a vampire" part really doesn't… does it?

I warn you, it is positively pathetic, and proof that I really am losing my mind.

Basically, I am irrevocably in love with someone in whose company I spent a total of an hour, almost a decade ago. We have _not_ kept in touch and I have _not_ even spoken with any of his friends, family, or even former co-workers.

But in my despair I have decided to go looking for him – Dr. Carlisle Cullen, the vampire of my hopeless daydreams.

I gave him that title because of something silly that some old patient in the hospital where he worked told me. I didn't believe it then and I don't now, but it's funny to think about either way – mostly because it makes sense in an odd way. I should back up, though. There's a story.

Dr. Cullen was incredibly, incredibly handsome. And it's rather odd – even in the old days when I was a terribly hopeless flirt, I was realistic. I knew I was prettier than average and I had plenty of self-confidence, but not so much as to be completely unreasonable. When I saw a man I thought was too far out of my league, I had the sense to move on.

But with Dr. Cullen, things were different.

It was like when I first saw him, I realized every woman in the _world_ would look absolutely inadequate at his side. So why _not_ me? In retrospect, after thinking about that, I probably acted like the sixteen-year-old schoolgirl that I was in hopes of gaining a bit of his attention. Even that day, a little part of me thought that I just might have had some success. The smile he gave me as I left seemed bigger than courtesy required. Perhaps he would call on me at home; become a beau. One never knew.

All the smiles and tender "accidental" brushes of skin on skin were running wildly through my mind when I bade him goodbye and hobbled awkwardly into the lobby on my new crutches. I was completely dazed, but was oddly brought back to earth by the tug of a strange old man on my arm. In all honesty, he looked like he could have been over one hundred, but I knew that wasn't possible. His cloudy gray eyes narrowed as they connected with mine.

"Be careful around that doctor, missy," he had cautioned, his voice gravelly and deep. "Don't trust them… the men with the cold touch. They're not like you and me. They're a danger."

I had nodded, mostly out of politeness and a lack of any better ideas of how to handle the situation. But the man hadn't been ready to stop.

"He'll take your soul," he said, his voice getting steadily louder. "The sleepless ones, they aren't to be trusted!"

I looked around helplessly, but about that time, a nurse came to my aid.

Sleepless ones. Cold ones. The whole way home, I had tried to come up with a theory for what that meant. Because Carlisle's touch _had_ been cold – strangely so. And he had also been so hauntingly beautiful. From that point on, I started thinking of Carlisle as my vampire. It seemed silly, but it made for happy daydreams. Which I needed more and more desperately as my married life wore on.

In case you happened to wonder, nothing every came of my vampire and me. He actually left town less than a week after treating my leg. When I asked about him at the front desk, the nurse had raised her eyebrows. I didn't care what she thought, though. I persisted, and she eventually told me that she'd heard Dr. Cullen was headed for Chicago.

I didn't give up there. I began going to the library and reading the Chicago Tribune. There were always copies around, even if they were a few weeks behind. Yes, this was me at seventeen and eighteen. As my friends watched every move of Walter Long and Billy Murray, so I monitored Dr. Carlisle Cullen. I found an article pertaining to my vampire every couple of months, which was enough to keep me loyally rushing to the library every day after school.

I hate to say it, but this continued well into my married life. I couldn't go nearly as often, but every couple of months, I'd still scan through in search of his name. I tried not to in the months following my marriage and my honeymoon, but after I realized the mistake that I'd made, I had been desperately in need of something to live for. So, as always, Carlisle's memory surfaced.

One day, everything changed. Somewhere in the back of the paper, it was announced that renowned Dr. Cullen had departed for Ashland, Wisconsin to stay with family. I was crushed. There was no way to get access to any Ashland publication, and besides, hadn't this gone on long enough? He was now three states away, and had most definitely moved on with his life. Even if I was still pathetically rooted in the past.

But it was to no avail.

The perfect face and all of the dreams that go with it haunted my memory. Even now, every handsome, smiling face I see, I imagine it's him. Whenever life becomes too much, I can look back and see those clear eyes and that sweet smile. I didn't even spend an hour with him, but every detail is burned on my memory. That includes the way he acted. I've found that if I try hard enough, I really can imagine that he loved me. The tenderness in his words, the gentleness in his cool touch… I can't be that I'm exaggerating it out of desperation.

I _am_ pretty desperate, aren't I?

I must admit, I feel currently as though I am going to throw up. Ordinarily, I would blame the constant motion of the train, but I felt just as bad before we even started moving. The nausea is kind of a perpetual thing nowadays, between the pregnancy and the constant anxiety that comes with looking over my shoulder every hour of every day. Every time I do, I expect to see Charles's dark eyes and that sly smile I hate so much. The smile that scolds me for my latest faux pas and hints at the trouble I'll be in later.

A wave of fear coursed through me at the thought, and for a moment, I was afraid I really _would_ throw up. This train would not be a good place, especially in the cramped little compartments to which my meager finances relegated me.

On the topic of finances, I'm almost exactly halfway between Columbus and Ashland right now. That's a good thing, because I've blown through about half of the money I had set aside for travelling. The rest would have to be put to use for food and temporary lodging once I arrived in Ashland.

I suppose the pregnancy was, ironically, good for my health. Had there not been the guilt that came with knowing that I was eating for two, I might have forgone eating altogether in my nervousness and poverty. But as it was, eating was a necessary expenditure. Keeping it down, however, was the uphill struggle, and I was pleased to have succeeded so far.

I wasn't sure exactly what I expected would happen when I arrived in Ashland. It was kind of funny, in a very sick and depressing sort of way: there was one little corner of my mind that hoped to see my vampire waiting for me at the station. Of course, the tiny bit of logic that remained somewhere within me keeping me sane scoffed. The chance that he still lived in Ashland after all these years was probably slim, even if the nurse had told me the right place to begin with. The chances that my vampire remembered me at all were even slimmer.

And that's when my throat thickened and my eyes started stinging and I had to think about other things.

"You're looking a little sick, dearie," an old woman beside me said quietly. I tried to smile at her, but couldn't really succeed with the fear of the tears that lurked in the corners of my eyes.

"I'm not very accustomed to train travel," I managed to reply. The lady nodded.

"Your fragile condition isn't making anything easier," she sympathized. "I haven't seen anybody here with you, for that matter. Where is your husband?"

"I'm meeting him in Ashland."

The words were out before I could stop or even realize that I was lying so severely. In the moment, it hadn't seemed like a lie. And worse yet, it really _still_ didn't.

"I see," the lady replied, smiling at me in a motherly way. She reached into her purse and pulled out a little package wrapped in aluminum foil. "Take these, dearie. They're peppermint drops – very soothing for an upset stomach."

Gratefully, I accepted it. It really wasn't the peppermint drops that I was grateful for, either. At that moment, I couldn't imagine anything sugary doing more than turning my stomach even more. It was actually the knowledge that there was somebody in the world that cared at all that helped more than I could say. As I slowly unwrapped the candy, mostly out of gratitude and politeness, a voice came over the crackly speaker.

"Next stop, Bloomington, Illinois!"

"Oh dear, that's my stop," the old lady said, reaching under her seat and pulling out a bag made from faded carpet. Taking that in one hand and the big purse from which my peppermint candy had come in the other, she stood to walk up to the front of the car.

"Thank you for everything," I said, realizing my voice was hardly more than a whisper.

She patted my cheek.

"I hope you find the new start you need in Ashland," she said. "Sometimes moving is the right thing to do – when you need to start over."

I nodded, feeling my eyes well up with tears.

She had known all along.

"Thank you," I whispered through my folded hands.

* * *

Pt. 2 coming soon!


	2. At the Hospital, April 27, 1921

Sorry for the fact that I took forever updating. I had it all ready to go on Sunday, but the login screen has been down for like, four days now. Anyway, thanks for the great response on chapter one! :D And this story, I hate to admit it, gets REALLY depressing in the next few chapters. Would it help if I went ahead and let you know it has a happy ending? ;)

3

* * *

"Her water's broken – somebody call an ambulance!"

The voice seemed shockingly quiet and distant above the throbbing that consumed all of my being. I didn't know if it was fear, pain, shock, or a gruesome combination of all three, but I had been rendered motionless, lying on my back on the grimy platform.

I had stepped off the train when the man called Ashland, Wisconsin – I was sure of that. I could even remember almost tripping as I stepped down onto the platform because I hadn't stood up in so long. That sensation has always made me dizzy. Somebody grabbed my arm before I fell down, but not before everything started getting fuzzy.

It felt like more time had passed than a few seconds since all this had happened, but I knew that it hadn't.

Somebody was supporting my head, I think. At least, I could tell that the regions above my neck didn't seem to be on the cold concrete along with the rest of me. I clutched the bag full of all of my worldly possessions tightly to my chest, regardless of the pathetically small amount to which they amounted. Everything was closing in – I felt hot all over, and I could feel my hair sticking to my face.

Broken words and phrases buzzed around me like bees, some angry, some frightened, some urgent, some concerned. I even think I heard a few that had nothing at all to do with me, and that seemed strange too.

"How old – ?"

"… been on the train for days, so says that man over there…"

"Does anybody know… husband…?"

They all really ran together when it was said and done; maybe because they matched so uncannily the bizarre jumble of thoughts bouncing around my own head. Finally, something managed to jump out from the strange, muddy heap of words.

"Stay with us."

This voice seemed distant, but I could tell it was right above my head. Somehow following the instruction, I managed to focus my eyes on the speaker. Though something made me think he was a doctor, I knew he wasn't my vampire. I would know that voice anywhere.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

Interestingly enough, I was still evidently capable of reason, because a thousand different warning alarms sounded in my mind at that question. I couldn't be Esme Evenson – that would make it terrifyingly simple for Charles to find me. My next instinct was to go with my maiden name, Esme Platt, but that would hardly provide him with any more of a challenge.

Think, Esme!

I needed a name, and a good one! While I was still conscious!

"Esme Cullen," I whispered as the man reached down to move me to a stretcher. In my confusion, I almost thought that I could have heard a buzz of whispering sweep over the room after those words left my mouth.

Before I could know for sure, everything went black.

When I awoke, it was to searing pains. I was lying on rough sheets, and voices all around me were yelling again. It was as though nothing had changed – except for the back and forth tugging and ripping sensation that I felt. I must have cried out, because the multitude of scrub-clad doctors and nurses above me realized I was awake.

"Quick, give her something!"

A female voice.

"No, we can't – we can't risk her losing consciousness again. Esme, Mrs. Cullen – are you with me?"

Oh. That's right. Esme Cullen. It took me a second to remember everything – leaving the house, getting on the train… the memories of the jolting and the loneliness and the kind old woman. Things were coming together again, but I still felt as though I was missing some major details.

I was in no condition to be thinking…

The authoritative voice I was now hearing wasn't the doctor from the platform anymore, but it still wasn't my vampire. Somehow, I managed to nod to his question… though I could hardly remember what it had been.

His next words brought me back to consciousness like a bucket of cold water to the face.

"Esme Cullen, you're having a baby. He's early, but there's nothing we can do. You have to listen to me."

"I'm… listening."

My voice sounded pathetically small and weak. The woman it belonged to I couldn't possibly bring a child into the world. She was too beaten back, too weakened by the injustice of the world. She was literally half-insane, driven to the brink of what she could handle. She hadn't eaten hardly anything in the past week, and hadn't slept in over a day – her only source of energy was a copious supply of adrenaline and heartbreak.

But she was me.

And I am a fighter.

"Okay, Esme. You have to push – when I say. Okay, now!"

I remember my world becoming isolated and cold – no colors but light, no sounds but the hum of my own straining. The doctor's voice was the only thing that managed to penetrate my solitary universe of agony. His encouragement and instruction kept me connected with the outside world, despite the way it died away. I could feel my energy being sapped away quickly… I should have taken better care of myself…

I had just been so anxious…

I remember a few instants of black silence over the course of what I assume was the delivery, but evidently I never fully passed out again. I had to have been continually lucid, because after what felt like a century in half-cohesive purgatory, the doctor placed in my arms a softly whimpering baby boy. Though he was terribly small and looked as weak as I felt, he was beautiful. I felt joy rise within me as I watched his tiny eyes open and his little fists flail.

It had all been worth it.

All the years of pain and regret had, in a final twist of irony, given me this tiny life to love and nurture. Every bruise I had hidden and tear I had wiped away had led to this moment. He was mine to care for, and running away was the best decision I had ever made. My son would never feel the hard fall of my husband's hand or see the cold look in his eyes. Instead, this child would grow up with love and acceptance – we would make it, we had to!

His name was Phineas, I told the nurses – after a character in my favorite book. Phineas was a good name for a fighter, and this baby would have to grow up to be just that. Perhaps it was a long and complicated name for a small baby, but I felt certain that he would grow into it. Until then, he would be my Finny.

But for now he could sleep. A nurse gently took him away, and though I didn't think I'd held him for nearly long enough, I lacked the power to protest.

I would sleep too. I had no other choice.

I wished I could sing a lullaby, but I had run out of breath and words.

I hoped this world would treat him well.

My little Phineas Carlisle.


	3. Still at the Hospital, April 28, 1921

Thanks, as always. :)

Your mission, dear reader: Listen to the song "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls. It matches Carlisle and Esme's relationship PERFECTLY.

* * *

Logic would tell me that I had a very strange dream over the course of the night I spent at the hospital. It makes sense not only because the events that took place would have been near impossible in reality, but also because my sleep was terribly awkward and staggered between doses of pain medicine and nurses awakening me to check my blood pressure. However, I still use the term "dream" very loosely. I remain unconvinced that I had imagined all of it during my half-lucid, painful night. It was just too real.

He was there – my vampire.

I had heard a sound at the door and assumed it was the doctor with another tiny dose of laudanum to help me sleep. And it was a doctor, but not my doctor.

It was him.

Precisely as I remembered.

Every lock of hair that I had so painstakingly memorized appeared before me exactly how it had in my memory. There were no traces of gray or wrinkles that should have developed over the last decade. Not a single one of his features indicated a passage of more than a day's worth of time, if that. Admittedly, that's part of what makes me wonder if it was a dream.

Of course, vampires don't age, but I'd never really thought of him as a vampire – had I?

"Carlisle," I had whispered, extending a shaky arm. His hands tightened in the pockets of his lab coat, as though it was all he could do not to reach back. I didn't understand why he would try to resist at all. He stared at me in silence for a few minutes.

"Why?" he finally asked me. "I knew I wouldn't be able to forget, but I hoped you would. I wanted you to have a normal life."

His words troubled me, but at the same time, ignited a spark. Several sparks. He had never forgotten? The second I was told he left for Ashland, I had been sure that he had stopped thinking about me. So why had he left me at all? And what was this about a "normal life?" I couldn't have had a normal life with him?

And why did he want so badly for me to forget him?!

"No," I replied, shaking my head. I couldn't think of anything more to say, despite all of the volumes I had thought I would say to him, if we ever did meet again. It had been so many years since the last time our eyes had met… and he had come at such a horrible time…

"You called yourself Esme Cullen," he said softly. "They thought you might be a relation. I told them it was a coincidence, of course, but I came anyway. You used my name for a reason, I know you did."

"It's because I remembered. I came here, looking for you," I explained, knowing my time with him might be short.

He only shook his head.

"It can't be that way."

"It can! It can if you stay," I exclaimed, wanting more than anything for him to sit in the chair beside my bed or put down his bag of instruments or make any indication that he intended to remain with me, even for a little while. But he didn't.

"It can't," he insisted. "It can't, because then it will have to be forever. And you deserve better, for forever."

"No," I said, knowing that my voice was still rising in volume. I felt his familiar cold touch – the touch from ten years' worth of fantasies – brush across my cheek. I hadn't realized he had gotten that close…

But he was still talking nonsense. Nothing could be better for forever, than finally seeing all my hopeless, teary daydreams fulfilled. Feeling this cold touch as long as I lived…

"It can't," he repeated a final time. "I shouldn't have come."

My head was swimming, though I remained anchored in place by the presence of his gentle fingertips. He stroked my cheek incredibly lightly, as though he were afraid he would break me – as though I were some kind of bloated, unkempt porcelain doll. But I was made of something far more durable than porcelain – Charles had proven that. If he hadn't broken me by now, it had to be pretty near impossible…

Carlisle's voice broke my reverie mercifully.

"Your child is quite beautiful," he said, looking into the bassinet beside my bed. "He has your eyes – I imagine they're going to be a beautiful green."

"He should have had yours," I heard myself say. I was momentarily shocked by my own forwardness, but that didn't stop me from finishing my statement. "His middle name is Carlisle, did you know that? I named him after you – the father he should have had."

A silence pervaded the room. I suddenly wanted to take back the words I had just said. Had they offended him? I watched Carlisle's eyes, silently pleading with him to show some kind of emotion.

I finally got my wish.

"You're making this so difficult for me," Carlisle said, his voice dulled by sadness. "Do you think I like doing this, coming here and telling you these things? Don't you think I wish that that beautiful boy was mine, Esme?"

Then make him yours! Why must you leave?!

I wanted to scream at him and let out all of the anger and regret that I had felt over the years since we met, but I lacked the energy. There was only one thought that I could voice in that moment.

"Say my name again," I whispered.

Another silent moment passed.

"Esme," he finally repeated, tracing my cheekbone softly. I would remember that word, accompanied by that caress, for as long as I lived. I would remember it as having been full of longing, regardless of whether that was what he had intended it to be. It hardly mattered, in the scheme of things, if he was just going to leave again anyway.

Despite the fact that I was evidently cognizant enough to have a conversation, I still felt the effects of the medicine clouding my mind. There was no way I could handle or feel all of this emotion. I had been slowly reaching my limit since he walked in the door, and I was finally there. I felt suddenly empty as I watched the colors swirl around me. Was I waking up? Or was it simply those pesky tears filling my eyes again?

"You're a dream," I told him, my voice hollow with disappointment. He bit his lip. Looking into his incredible golden eyes, I felt somehow justified to see the intense pain that reflected back at me. His words implied that he wanted to leave, but with that expression, it couldn't possibly be true. I was becoming increasingly certain about two things: Carlisle was regretting walking away from me. And he was standing beside me – in the flesh.

There was no way a dream-vampire could make an expression that hurt my heart so much.

"I might as well be a dream. Yes, Esme. This time, remember me that way. And learn not to dream of things that cannot be. It will save you quite a lot of pain."

"Don't leave me," I whispered again, reaching out to grab his hand before it left my face and allowed me to float away into despair, cutting me loose from the safe harbor he had become.

But he was already in the doorway. Giving me a final gaze of agony, he shook his head and left the room.

I was alone again, but real tears began to roll down my cheeks. If I could ignore how warm they were, the way they gently slid down to my chin was reminiscent of Carlisle's touch, from which a chill still lingered.

It had not been a dream.


	4. Ashland Apartment, April 30, 1921

This is kind of the chapter to _endure_. Sorry it's so incredibly DEPRESSING. I can honestly say that it's sadder than I meant for it to be, but there was only so much I could with the subject matter I was given. Just grab some kleenexes and hold on for **Carlisle's return in chapter five!!!!**

And BTW...

**I just want to make one thing clear about this chapter: it doesn't make much sense. It's not supposed to, since it's being told by somebody who's slowly losing their mind. The baby IS ACTUALLY Charles Evenson's. Esme just lies to herself for awhile here to stave off the impending insanity. But yeah - I don't usually do AU stuff. So Finny is Charles's.**

* * *

I am very glad I have little Finny to distract me.

Otherwise, I might not be able to cope with the fact that I was so close to Carlisle, and then let him leave me behind again. My senses had been so dulled by the medicine that I laid back and watched him walk out the door with only a few tears and weak protestations. Had I been fully cognizant, I would have gotten up, pleaded with him, made a scene!

Clearly, I am far beyond believing any of that nonsense about it being a dream.

I wondered why I ever thought it was a dream, honestly. Now that I really think about it, it wasn't strange at all!

Dr. Cullen had finally come and acknowledged his son, if only for a moment. Goodness knows he owes me that much, after nine months! Either way, it is quite irritating that I, Esme Cullen, his wife, have been left to raise Finny all by myself. Carlisle would have made an excellent father, too. Our son could have visited him at work and learned everything about the hospital and how it worked. They could have played baseball together on the weekends.

But I cannot dwell on such things. I am a mother now, and I have someone else to live for. My son. The son I had had with the incredible, beautiful Carlisle Cullen.

We have finally been allowed to come back home. Admittedly, home is a bit pathetic, now that I can't live with Carlisle. I have a long-stay hotel room here in Ashland, and I have paid through the end of this week. I'm not entirely certain what I'll do after Sunday comes around, though. I have five dollars in my purse, and that is the extent of my worldly capital. Hopefully, I will be able to work again before we run out.

I shouldn't have gone home so early; all the nurses advised against it. But I simply couldn't pay for another night in the hospital! They wanted Finny to gain a little bit more weight, but I knew that after we left, he would just lose it again. It would be hard for him to remain a decent weight if I wasted all our money on hospital bills and couldn't afford to feed either of us.

I have not slept in about a week now.

Well, not entirely. I slept a few hours off and on in the hospital, but it was hard with the pain.

The pain. I haven't mentioned that yet, have I?

It's an ever-present thing. It began about the time I boarded the train. I initially attributed it to the child, but I did not want to think about the possibility of giving birth at that point, so I denied the presence of any hurting. It got steadily worse, and finally, I passed out in the train station and evidently went into labor. Logically, after I gave birth, I expected it to go away.

It didn't.

The bleeding that went with it hasn't either.

Occasionally I worry that something serious is wrong with me. That I'll faint again – or worse – and no one will be able to take care of Finny. But there's nothing I can do. I can't pay someone to treat me or to check on us, and I don't really know anyone here in Wisconsin. So there's no use wasting the little energy I still have worrying about it.

If only Carlisle were here; I wonder when I can expect him back!

Despite my exhaustion, I am always alerted to Finny's soft little cries. He sleeps on our one bed, and I let him have most all the blankets. I really just need one; the little sleep I manage to get is usually in one of the kitchen chairs, my head rested on our worn table. I'm afraid to take any more of the blankets for myself; Finny's such a little thing; I'm afraid he'll catch cold!

He doesn't cry too often though, which concerns me. Friends of mine talked about being up all night with new babies. I'm up all night anyway because of the pain, but I wish that he would make his presence known a little bit more often. And his wails are hardly substantial enough to deserve that title; he mostly just whimpers when he's hungry or I need to change his diaper.

We have spent two nights together after I left the hospital, and he has cried for me a total of four times. Something tells me that's atypical.

But again – what can I do?

After all, I don't eat too much either.

I admit, I'm taking horrible care of myself, but I take good care of Finny! I'm always there when he cries for me, and very often when he doesn't. Constantly I urge him to eat, but to little avail. It matters if he eats. Not me, really. I can make do. I'm not my main concern right now. Besides, everything will change when I can work again. I'll try and find a job at a restaurant, so I can eat there and not waste our money feeding me. And hopefully waitressing will also mean tips, so I can better afford necessities like baby food and teething rings, when Finny becomes old enough to require them.

See, I do have a plan.

But for now, I am slouched against the wall in a dirty apartment, deserted save me and my near-silent baby, eating stale Grape-Nuts without milk and wondering if I'll be able to buy another box of this awful cereal tomorrow, or if I'll actually have to spend the last of my money on a doctor's bill.

_Oh Carlisle, where are you? Your son and I need you!_

* * *

I sat bolt upright at the kitchen table, wondering what had happened. Evidently, I'd fallen asleep, but I would have thought that impossible! The dingy lace curtains, usually bluish from the outside sunlight trying to make its way through the grime, were now pitch black.

How long had it been?!

I tried to see the old clock from where I sat, but it was difficult to make it out in the darkness of the room, so I turned on the kitchen light. I could finally see the small hand, and my stomach lurched as I realized that it pointed to the nine.

Nine o'clock at night?!

Had I slept for three hours?!

I stood up quickly, ignoring the sharp pain in my gut, and raced over to the bed in the corner.

Finny, my love, why didn't you wake me up?

I picked him up quickly and cradled him to my chest, but something didn't feel right.

In fact, something felt very, very wrong.

There were no cries, no stirring. No hot breath on my cheek. I must say that it took me a moment to fully realize what had happened. Maybe I just couldn't take it in – or didn't want to. However, when I finally did manage to admit to myself what had taken place, I was startlingly calm.

I placed Charles Evenson's cold, silent child back on the carefully-arranged blankets.

I picked my coat up off the back of the door, where it had been hanging on a rusty peg.

I put it on, right arm first, then left.

I opened the door, and felt the wind sting my face.

I stepped out into the cold night air.

And I walked, until there were no steps left for me to take.

* * *

I promise Carlisle comes back in ch. 5 - he has to! So don't be too depressed!


	5. Heaven, Hell, or Somewhere in Between

For all of us too tired or too whatever to go to a midnight DVD release party... have some Carlisle/Esme angstyfluff! :D This is the final chapter unless a magical blast of inspiration unexpectedly hits. I mean, I think we all know where the story goes from here... I have a Christmas fic that could kind of be a sequel, but I think I'll save that one till December, when we're all in post-New-Moon-premiere depression. ;) But anyway.

Thanks so much for reading!

And YAY CARLISLE!

* * *

"Esme, dearest, I'm so, so sorry," Carlisle whispered as he stood over me.

That was my first memory, after I stepped off the cliff. The beautiful face of my vampire lover, gazing down at me in immense sadness. I had, at that point, no recollection of the fall itself or even the pain of the impact. I had already essentially lost my mind before I set out on my last walk, and I was no more cognizant simply because of Carlisle's presence. Although I did have one conviction.

I was actually quite certain that I had died.

Yes, of that, I was rather confident. There was no feeling on this earth like the one I experienced as I gazed at the perfect face above my bed. Carlisle's blonde hair was silhouetted by the light, and his eyes seemed to glow against the stark white background. I didn't know where I had come from or where I was going, but that concerned me hardly at all. I had moved on beyond this earth. Everything felt numb from my legs down, which didn't seem so odd, as dazed as I was.

The only thing that perplexed me was the despair that rested on my chest like a dead weight. You weren't supposed to feel that after you had died, right? At least, not if you went to heaven. And this had to be heaven, or why would Carlisle have been there?

And if he was really there beside me, his words made no sense.

'…so, so sorry…'

There was no logic or reason behind why Carlisle would tell me he was sorry for anything, but I wanted him to apologize again, over and over. His voice was so beautiful. What could I say, what could I ask, to make him speak again?

"If this is heaven, why does everything hurt so much?" I murmured, asking the only question that came to mind. "And how can you and I both be so sad?"

I could hear him sigh deeply and I thought felt his cold hand close over mine. But the temperature didn't feel that different to me – not as much as before.

"It's not heaven," he whispered. "If it were, I certainly wouldn't deserve to be here. Not after all I've put you through."

"You?" I asked, still unaware of what had happened. I still couldn't remember Carlisle wronging me, but if he had, I couldn't imagine that I would care.

"Yes, me," he replied, his lovely voice becoming more and more intense. "All of the tribulations you sustained were my fault entirely. Every single one of them. And don't try to tell me otherwise."

"Stop talking nonsense," I whispered. In retrospect, I imagine that it was quite ironic to hear my drowsy, slurred voice condemning nonsense. "You're perfect."

"Don't talk to me about perfection!" Carlisle said, looking away. I tried to lift my left hand, my free hand, to touch his cheek. But I found that I could not.

"There's something wrong with me," I said, giving him an imploring gaze. "Something bad happened."

"You're right," he replied guardedly. "That's what brought me here."

Then something occurred to me.

"I'm still alive," I mumbled. "But… I'm dying."

I knew even then that those words should have filled me with some kind of fear or regret, but I couldn't manage that. It was simply a fact, and one that I was incapable of changing. The one thing that troubled me was the idea that in mere hours – minutes, maybe – Carlisle wouldn't be with me anymore. I would have gone somewhere else and left the one man I loved behind. Was there anything I could do to keep that from happening?

"Carlisle, die with me," I implored. It was a useless thing to ask, but I was beyond caring whether or not I made sense.

He paused, his expression becoming uncertain.

"I can't do that," he replied slowly. "But I can ask you to die with me. It's a question I've wanted to ask since the day we met. I ran away from it, back then. I avoided you for over a decade, despite how it hurt."

His words still didn't make any sense, but I thought that it might just be me. I was steadily losing consciousness; I could tell.

"I would have done anything, given anything," I said, fighting the drowsiness I felt. "I don't care. What could possibly be wrong enough to keep us apart for so long?"

"I couldn't tell you then. And I knew if I stayed with you, I would have to. I would have to make you like me, and that was a sacrifice I couldn't imagine. I fought for a long time. Finally, I thought I had matured enough to be able to resist you and visit you in the hospital, but I almost went through with it then, too. I had to run away again."

"You're not leaving this time," I told him with certainty, maintaining my hopelessly firm grip on his hand.

"I have to," he replied. "But this time, I'm taking you with me."

I had blinked the tears away enough that Carlisle's face – and the tortured expression it held – finally came back into focus.

"Take me," I whispered.

That's the last thing I remember saying before I felt his lips close on my throat in the most tender of kisses. My entire body relaxed, and my pulse begin to speed up.

So this is what it felt like… to be kissed by someone you love…

I floated in the sea that was that beautiful feeling for a moment or two, wondering how I had lived for so long without understanding what true happiness felt like – because this had to be that in its purest form. The tingling sensation that began where he had kissed spread through my entire body, feeling warm and unfamiliar. I could sense my legs, formerly so dormant and paralyzed, share the electricity that was spreading through me like wildfire.

But then I realized that something was wrong.

My pulse hadn't stopped getting faster – it was still continuing to accelerate, and its rate was now quite alarming. The drowsiness, rather than closing over me, was dissipating like clouds over a crescent moon. My throat was beginning to sting, and Carlisle still hadn't pulled away.

Then the sensation that had radiated out to my arms and legs became a horrible, fiery agony, and some part of me began to understand.

True to his word as always, my vampire was taking me with him.


End file.
